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My heart swelled with love so wild, every time I watched you burst down from heights and drizzle upon your child.

You were my lucky charm, my reason to not remain a recluse of my own prune for a brain and mourn.

Your wet hands had caressed me from time to time, revoking the solitary bard whom I seldom called upon to rhyme my otherwise crude lines. 

You remained; I hoped desperately that you would – my answer to the scathed look I saw in those mirrors after long wretched hours.

Under your spell I spent my days in that serene spot I had come upon, to unveil my pride in you and your slivers that never tired my otherwise empty eyes.

Dear Rain, I loved you so.

Yet you broke my heart, you scared me off and now I regard you with so much dread and a broken heart.

I look up and see you pouring down with all might as if you never shared my love or my feelings a mite. So I broke up with my bard and band, and I no more sing when you pour down on my land.

Now I fight the dejection you bore me. You, the one lone knight whom I wove into my life from the silver threads through whom you embraced the bosom of my desert; the very desperate desert that yearned for even the tiniest drop of your wet embrace.

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